Harry Potter And The Secret Longbottom
by JauntyJack
Summary: A typical office day in the ministry turns to an mysterious adventure when two of his oldest friends are calling for Harry's help as an auror. A wizard attack on a pawn shop, a young offender who stole Arthur's wand - and a sympathetic ink message, Neville's gran left him in the family register. Everything leads to a certain young guitar boy and his wicked harmonica ...
1. I Double, double, toil and trouble

I. Double, double, toil and trouble

~ something wicked this way comes ~ (William Shakespeare, from "Macbeth")

… _something wicked this way comes!_

Harry muttered with a crooked grin and a shake of his head while he folded the parchment paper back up and shoved it into the hip pocket of his jeans. Since he caught his daughter singing this song when he knocked on her door to say goodbye this morning, the old words got stuck in his head and he hummed snippets of the melody the whole day. And now, just in the moment he wanted to knock off work, this message arrived and the haunting earworm seemed to have something of a mocking foreshadow that waited just for this moment to make sense. He took a slightly annoyed deep breath, not because of the overtime, but rather because of Errol lying comatose on his desk. The Weasley's Great Grey Owl looked like a plucked feather duster and the top of the writing desk was littered with a good bunch of his coat.

 _Scourgify!_ With a flick of his wand and his mind the cleaning charm he removed the mess of feathers, grabbed a handful of owl treats out of the drawer and scattered it front of the bird. Afterwards he turned around and threw an evaluating glance at the window. Arthur's request was urgent, so he couldn't wait for the old owl to recover, but it was also unthinkable to lock up his office and leaving the window ajar. Sceptical he eyed up the rapid breathing feather ball. Though Errol was totally exhausted he felt a certain respect for him – nineteen years after he and Ron graduated from Hogwarts, the Weasley's true post owl was still alive and still on duty besides Pigwidgeon. Sometime's Harry asked himself if this dinosaur of an owl was deathless, in a way different nature than Scabbers so many years ago. Errol seemed to be the Mad Eye Moody of all owls and remembered him how Hedwig could have been if she had survived the days of the Second Wizard War.

With a sigh, Harry stepped up to the clothes hook. For a moment he hesitated, then he reached for his muggle jacket and slipped it over. His magic rain cloak found place on his desk, around Errol. It wasn't just water-repellent, its special charm was also soil proofing, so he wouldn't have a problem with bird droppings leaving Errol inside of this nest. It was certain enough his unforeseen side trip could last a few hours or even the whole night when Arthur Weasley was calling for help!

„Alright!" He sighed again, and with another flick of his wand he filled up his coffee cup with fresh water and slid it closer to Errol's improvisational nest. „But stay away from the wastebasket!"

He could imagine the basket looked more like a proper nest in Errol's eyes, but this would be a problem 'cause it wasn't made to collect the paperwaste, it was enchanted to eat it up, and Harry wasn't anxious about coming back into his office and finding a battleground instead of his workplace!

His hand found the invisible cloak in the rain cloak's pocket. After that, without more hesitation, he approached the door again and locked it from inside.

„Well then! Goodnight, Errol!"

The Grey Owl opened a single eye, blinked at him and then sank back to sleep again. Harry smiled to himself. In concentration he closed his own eyes. A moment later, the black-haired young man with the scar on his forehead was turning around on the spot, and unheard, only witnessed by the old bird, he vanished into thin air.

Seconds later, the squeezing, forced feeling was gone. Harry Potter stood motionless, looked around the dark side-alley and then up to the row of houses he apparated in front of. The face of the building Arthur instructed him to focus on showed an old, weather-beaten shop sign, similar to Ollivander's or Borgin and Burke's, with the only difference he just entered the muggle world.

 _Cray_ _'_ _s Pawn Shop._

Besides the windows illuminated from inside, not a single sign of life could be heard or seen. Slowly, Harry stripped of the hood of his invisible cloak.

„Arthur?

A sudden sound was the answer. Like someone banging up, followed by a rumble and splittering.

„GOTCHA!"

 _What the –_ Harry didn't take time to wonder. His wandhand and feet nearly acted faster as he could think about. The door burst open, Harry rushed into the shop, wand at the ready -

„What the hell?!"

Again he froze, but now in disbelief! Arthur Weasley knelt in the middle of a mahogany writing desk, holding a glass cover with both hands, in whose inside a silver-glittering, narrow something rioted around! Numerous pieces of other furniture was overthrown in the room, and a cupreous blood smell hung in the air!

„Behind the counter!" Arthur replied.

„What?!"

„The shop's owner!" He was breathless and sweaty, still fighting against the small silver something that banged against the glass cover, snapping and growling like a wild animal.

„Is that a cheese dome?" Harry couldn't help but staring at the weird scene in front of him.

„Merlin, Harry, JUST DO SOMETHING!"

„Finite!"

Nothing happened.

„The common charms won't work! I already tried them!" His friend told him under gritted teeth. „I think you'll have to -"

„Yeah, great!" Harry rolled his eyes. Together with the ironic remark he was already struck by the awareness what they had to do. He raised his wand again, and this time he conjured a paintbrush out of nowhere.

„Okay, I'll count to three!"

His wand held the paintbrush levitated, and with an unsaid spell he forced it floating towards the cheese dome. _Wingardium Leviosa!_ How long ago was it since he used this spell for the last time?

„One – two - - - THREE!"

Arthur raised the glass dome. The small narrow thing shot out of the cover, and again it was Harry's skilled capacity of reaction the paintbrush was speeded through the air – bristles forward. Several minutes a very strange fight unfolded between the two unlike objects. The paintbrush was swerving all attacks of the biting metal item, seemed to swordplay against it and finally, in one last concentrated moment, Harry managed the bristles wiping the shining surface … Hagrid's voice at the back of his mind.

„ _Yeh've got to stroke 'em."_

The growling and snapping stopped. Snorting, Arthur breathed out and put the dome back over the resting item. Harry looked him over.

„Are you alright?"

„Yes, but the muggle isn't! That thing nearly ripped off his fingers!"

Harry walked around the sales counter. There, covered in his own blood, a man lay on the ground. He was totally passed out, but if out of his injuries, a shock or a spell Harry couldn't determine. But as an auror he was always prepared, even with his muggle jacket! He barely took time to take notice of a sharp nose and dark hair. Harry cowered down, pulled the Dittany Essence out of the inside pocket and started basting the wounds silent and quickly.

Meanwhile, Arthur Weasley had climbed down from the desk and approached him, still catching his breath.

„Could you please … cast a memory charm too?"

Without any words, Harry did what his friend asked for and then swiftly he got back on his feet.

„Okay, Arthur, what's going on here?! Are you sure you're not hurt?"

„Yes, I am!" Arthur's voice sounded calm, but then he paused with another deep breath and closed his eyes. Harry looked at him, also calm, but with the alerted and careful acuity of the auror he was. It wasn't just Arthur's behavior, the traces of a fight or the strange question, how Errol could fit into this picture. Something was wrong and his best friend's father avoided to tell him! After all that time they worked together for the ministry and years ago since he started to call him by his first name!

„Arthur, what is it?!"

„It's, erm … difficult to explain. And … somewhat embarrassing."

Harry blinked. Whatever he thought about, it wasn't that!

„My, erm … wand is gone."

„What?!"

Another deep sigh escaped from his lips.

„My wand is gone! Stolen by this … teen lad who's responsible for this mess!" He gestured into the room and then pointed back to the cheese dome. „Look at this!"

Irritated, Harry knit his brows and stepped towards the old wooden desk, staring at the next surprise. The argentic sparkling thing on the inside was an instrument!

„A harmonica?"

„Yes, and it locked jaws in his hands like a fighting dog gone wild! That's not just a prank, Harry, but … You see, I don't want him to go to Azkaban or St. Mungo's or something like that!"

„Huh?!"

„Something was strange about him. I don't think this was a serious attack. I was more like … how do the muggle's say? In the heat of the moment, you know? He was angry, for sure … all this was a pure rage reaction." Again, Arthur nodded at the overthrown, partly smashed furniture. „But his eyes were different. Desperate and … full of fear, as if he didn't know how to stop this riot thing by himself. And … he didn't use his own wand. It was an … emotional explosion."

Harry looked around. Now he noticed all the crashed shards and wood were parts of shattered shelves or cupboards, peppered with all sorts of commodity items: Electrical equipment, kitchenware, porcelain items, jewellery, antique paintings or pieces of smaller furniture and, as the harmonica itself, musical instruments. Most of them guitars, but -

„You think they had an argument? About the harmonica?"

„And about money. He … looked like a homeless."

Harry raised his eyebrows. „Maybe he just tried to look like a muggle! And – how on earth did you manage to send Errol for me when you were fighting with this guy?!"

„I already told you it was strange. Shortly before I arrived I sent a patronus message to Molly, only to tell her I have to make long hours. And _when_ I arrived, I found this young lad with this guitar case on his back standing behind the sales counter and shouting at the harmonica to stop. I drew my wand to fix the matter, and this moment he became aware of me and everything exploded. I passed out myself – only a short time I think, but when I woke Errol was sitting on the long case clock over there! Ready with pen and paper, and my wand was gone – just as the guitar boy."

„So Errol showed up because of your kitchen clock. Mortal peril", Harry concluded. „And Molly didn't know where to find you but Errol does!"

„Exactly", Arthur confirmed his words with another nod and sighed again. „And you know Molly, she will be mad with fear about me and if she hears about the wand -"

„She'll kill you", Harry said dryly, and Arthur paused with a grimace.

„Yeah, and she wouldn't understand why I'm concerned about that boy. I hoped you could trace him. Talk to him and find out his motive. This wasn't just a robbery. Just in case if there's more than one victim in this matter. And … I would really appreciate if you could do it … discretely."

„Let sleeping dogs lie, right?" Harry gave him a smile. „Well, this is my job, I don't see a problem in that ... but first we should clean up this chaos. Then we'll pick up Errol and I'll bring you back home, so we can talk to Molly and get a closer look at this wicked instrument!"

Another flick of his wand, and the silver stag burst out of its tip and rushed off through the door, on his way to the burrow, to tell Molly Weasley her husband was alright.


	2. NOTE: Fanfiction Trailer!

Second Chapter in progress, FANFICTION TRAILER available on Youtube.

For some reasons I'm not able to post the link, so please search for the words: "Darkmeair" and "harry potter and the secret longbottom".

Hope you like it! =)


	3. II In Her Eyes

II. In Her Eyes

~ she sees something more ~ (Josh Groban)

Molly Weasley stood at the sink, lost in thought and towelling the handful of pots and pans she used for cooking, notwithstanding that they were already sparkling clean five minutes ago. She had to care for way less dishes and cookware since her children moved out, but doing it without magic it helped her to stay calm although it was ten minutes now Arthur's clock hand in the front room constantly pointed at „travelling". A few minutes earlier it had switched from „mortal peril" to „work", and her confusion was perfect since a patronus message had ben sent back to her instead of Errol. It was _Harry_ _'_ _s_ patronus who brought the message Arthur was okay, even though she prepared the letter with a priority charm. A very useful spell that never failed, developed by Hermione Granger in her first ministry year, to make the correspondence more efficient, not only for the wizards but also for old post owls or house elves or those who were young in their job. So something _had_ to be wrong, why else they needed that long for travelling? Maybe Arthur was hurt, and -

 _tick!_

The other clock she was staring at without looking, switched its hand too.

 _Time for dinner,_ she read, and even before she realized the meaning of the words, the flames in the fireplace flashed green with a familiar thundering sound. Seconds later, her husband stepped out of the fire.

„ARTHUR!" Along with the yell, the pot was crashing into the dishwater, while Molly Weasley rushed up to him, not caring about the slight soot dust swirling around him and a few traces on his clothing as she embraced him in a sudden impulse of relief.

„What happened, why -"

A second burst of green flames interrupted her, and Harry entered the kitchen, a tousled Errol on his shoulder, who looked more than a bit off shaken up by the floo trip. As soon as Harry stepped back on solid floor, Errol flew up indignantly and scarpered into the living room.

„It's alright, Molly, we just had a little incident in a muggle pawn shop and Harry helped me out", he tried to soothe her, but Molly peered at him with a critical eye.

„A _little_ incident, while our clock gave the mortal peril warning and you needed the help of an auror?!" she retorted. Her eyes caught his crumbled shirt and tie, the traces of dust on his jacket that came _not_ from the fireside, and -

„Arthur, you're bleeding!" She grasped for his hand, and he looked at his knuckles, truly surprised.

„Oh, yeah, that thing pricked me!"

„What _thing_?!"

„That thing!" Harry reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled something out. Bewildered, Molly looked at the tiny owl cage, whose grid surrounded a metal mouth organ. „We had to improvise because it was quite savage. It got peaceful the moment we stroked it, but we took the cage from the lost property office in the ministry. We have to check out yet if it's bound to any other spells."

„You stroked it? Like that crazy school book when Ron and you were in third grade?"

„Thereabout ..." Arthur replied instead of Harry, his voice very slow and accented, his eyes still viewing the little bite marks on his knuckles. Molly knit her brows. Meanwhile Harry searched his other pockets and finally he handed her a small phial labelled as dittany. Careful, Molly trickled a little bit of the healing paint over the nips.

„Shortly before … I had another fight", Arthur's eyes returned to her face. „But not that bad", he added in sudden hurry. „Some, er … A teenage wizard … took my wand."

„What?!" Molly called out, but Harry interfered: „It wasn't him who attacked the muggle shop. Not wilfully, at least. We believe … it was the harmonica."

Molly let her glance drift from her husband to Harry and back again.

„This instrument … attacked the shop's owner. When I arrived, the young wizard stood aside and tried to stop the harmonica. He must have been startled by my appearance … When I tried to take action, he jerked round – and in the moment our eyes met, he totally lost it!"

„He blew up the interior decoration", Harry commented dryly at her questioning look.

Arthur gave him a chuntering side gaze.

„Look, we're here to do a comprehensive check, so it could be useful to tell her the truth!"

„Wait – are you telling me the mortal peril warning stroke because of a teenage overreaction?!", Molly tried to recap everything.

„Well, maybe ..."

„Oh Arthur, spit it out! I'm a mother of six adult boys and one adult daughter, I know testosterone and oestrogen can make life very difficult!"

Both men stared at her in complete silence.

„Great, now that I got your full attention, would you please tell me from the start?!"

„Reminds me, I forgot to tell Ginny", Harry stepped aside, stifling his laughter and opened one of the windows looking on the garden. Molly barely noticed the patronus' glow flashing up beyond the glass pane. While the stag slipped away with Harry's message for Ginny, she was still eying up her husband, waiting for an answer.

„To put it this way … It wasn't just his reaction, I think he didn't have any clue how to handle the situation _at all!_ He wasn't even pointing with his wand, so maybe _that_ was the problem ..."

„You mean his own wand got broken or also stolen, so he couldn't use it ... and instead of he decided to take yours?"

„I was knocked out for some minutes", He nodded. „Maybe a panic reaction …"

„Or maybe it was the wand he wanted to redeem with the harmonica", thoughtfully, Harry paced up to the kitchen table, put the miniature owl cage on the tablecloth and then stood motionless, brooding over the obvious point that was wrong in this theory. „But why in a muggle shop? If he's the victim of some stupid joke or thievery and it was a concatenation of circumstances … then why the harmonica did lock jaws on the pawnbroker? Such an aggressive attack, and you said, the boy was in high dudgeon, too?" Lost in his own consideration, Harry tapped the shaft of his wand against his palm.

„Absolutely!", Arthur averred. „He clearly wanted to stop that thing, but … I'm not sure if he knew about its full power, you know? He looked really disturbed ..."

Attentively, Harry looked up at him. „You mean what you told me about his eyes?" He paused for a moment, nodding to himself and at the caged harmonica at the same time. „If your guessing's right and they had an argument … it could be a revenge that went wrong. Somehow or other … we have to figure out what's behind that thing!"

He raised his wand again, but Molly intervened: „No, wait! What kind of examination? You can't do this without a protecting charm, or, at least, a second wand! With due respect of your auror education, you brought that thing into MY kitchen!"

„I'd thought to begin with Specialis Revelio ..." Harry smiled at her, and together with the twitch of his lips a mischievous glint reached his green eyes. Molly couldn't help but returning the smile. After all that time it was still a little odd to see him without his glasses, now often wearing contacts because his adventurous job. A lanky man in his mid-thirties, way taller than Arthur now and with a constant three-day beard and a knowledge about the dark arts way beyond his age. Dark knowledge in a bright and gentle mind, as she thought often. This was his element, like Ron's too, like Arthur was into muggle-studies and Charlie into dragons …

„I'm just concerned about _my_ interior decoration … And since Arthur has no wand any longer -" She gave him a reproachful glance.

„Yeah, sure!" Harry chuckled, but he waited for her until she circled the kitchen in its all cardinal points and covered them with the Salvio Hexia. Afterwards, she pointed out a Protego Horribilis to the ceiling to protect the rest of the house.

„Okay … let's see your secret!" Harry breathed out in full concentration, then he reached out his own wand and gave the silver shining harmonica a resolute tap with the unsaid spell.

Nothing happened. But Harry couldn't be put off. In quick and skilled movements, he tried some other spells, so focused on his task, Molly herself felt mesmerized and unable to avert her gaze. Right next to her, Arthur was watching in rapt attention.

 _TAP!_

 _TAP-TAP-TAP-TAP -_

„What the -"

Her husband spun around. Harry turned his head and Molly followed his gaze straight to the window, where he had cast his patronus a few minutes ago.

„A post owl?" Surprised, Arthur approached the barn owl who was pecking at the window glass from the outside. A hand movement later, he took the letter from her claws, raising his eyebrows in increasing astonishment.

„Seems your name's much in demand today!" He went up to Harry to hand over the message. There was nothing but his name on the envelope, besides a common logo revealing the diagon alley's post office as a return address.

„Okay?!" Harry squinted his eyes, surveying the emerald green cursive calligraphy. He threw a glance back at the mouth organ, still encased by the shrunken owl cage. The harmonica was still lying peaceful, not uttering a single sound or growl in the pondering silence.

„The handwriting seems familiar to me", he bandied a look with Molly, now clearly asking for her opinion.

„Ouch!" They both startled and looked around. Arthur was shaking his hand in pain. „It seems to be save, this owl apparently wants to be paid!"

Harry unfolded the letter. Politely, Molly turned her head and watched Arthur searching a cookie jar for some knuts.

„It's from Neville!" Harry called out, his voice in sudden shock, so she jerked round to him again. _Like the boy,_ a loose though crossed her mind – and then Harry spoke again: „His grandmother died!"


	4. III Sign of the Times

III. Sign of the Times

~ you can't bribe the door on your way to the sky ~ (Harry Styles)

 _\- tick – tack – tick – tack – tick …_

The steady rhythm of the old long case clock went on.

Time wouldn't stop, even if the rest of the world felt frozen. Or maybe it was himself, frozen deep inside. There it stood, the old grandfather clock that was in fact his _grandmother's_ clock! Every second was another breath, another heartbeat running over his lips and getting lost in the strange timeless feeling that came over him since she died. It was a week ago Hannahs letter called him back home from Hogwarts, cause Gran's health condition had gotten worse. It hadn't been the best during the past year, but forceful and stubborn as she always was, she refused to go to St. Mungo's. He knew her stubbornness was far from the obstinacy of old age. From childhood on he witnessed the hidden truth behind her harsh behaviour, even towards her own son and daughter-in-law … his mentally deranged parents, tortured to insanity by a certain group of Death Eaters and taken from him when he was barely at the age of two.

Gran never got over what became of her young, talented son and his also highly gifted wife. She always told him what great aurors they had been before and tried to push him in the same direction, sometimes complaining about _"_ _he was'n at all_ _"_ like them. But she never complained about the burden being rather his mother than a grandma – and she never told stories about his parent's auror adventures, like great-uncle Algie did.

Since he had been a little kid, Neville loved those stories. And he was scared being compared to his mother and father, believing he would never reach the magical abilities they had and yet longing for it to make his grandma proud. The reason _he_ decided to join the aurors under the leadership of Harry and Kingsley Shacklebolt shortly after the war, but then found his real profession as a Hogwarts teacher in herbology. All her immoderate expectations, the wilful ignorance towards his parents everytime they visited them at St. Mungo's had been the hidden grief of a mother who lost her son – and a wife left behind by her husband in the prime of their life, at least measured in the lifespan of wizards.

The wizarding hospital had always been her personal place of terror, the place her son and his wife vegetated years and years on, without recognizing her or even their son. He and Hannah respected her wish to spend her last days in the privacy of her own home, close to her family and family memories.

And now everything that was left by Augusta Longbottom was the family register. An old leather-bound book engraved in gold with the Longbottom's scripture and family crest.

 _\- tick – tack – tick …_

The book lay open on the coffee table, surrounded by an inkpot, a single quill and unilluminated candlesticks. Last night, when he opened it the first time, the parchment pages had been covered in the glint of candlelight and the shadows of the living room. Now, with the morning sun slowly breaking through the window, the dark ink writing silhouetted against the auburn paper – except for a few lines, written in gold. Two names alongside the names of him and Hannah, followed by another single name.

A trio he couldn't help to stare at since the mysterious letters appeared – right beneath the names of his mother and father, the the same second he finished writing down Gran's date of death:

 **Francine Longbottom ∞ Jonah James**

 **ƪ**

 **Joel James**

Without fail it was Gran's handwriting. But there was nothing more. No dates of birth or death, no hidden message or any other annotations. Just the names, even after he cast several spells on the book.

"Neville?" A knock at the door pulled him out of his thoughts, together with Hannah's voice and the slight clangour of tableware balanced on a tray. The familiar sound of his wife looking after him.

"Yeah?" Quickly he rose from the sofa, but Hannah was faster than his trance-frozen thoughts could make his body react. The door swung up and Hannah came in, handling a trayful of tea service. For a second, her long hair appeared almost silverish in the shadow of the door case, her face pale and anxious, but the moment she entered the room a pattern of sunlight touched her and showed the copper blonde, her rosy complexion and a tender smile on her lips.

"I thought instead of breakfast … we could drink a cup of tea. Just to ease down and get something in the stomach."

"Thanks, Han!" Neville smiled back to her, reaching for the tray so she could take seat on the couch. Way more skilled in clearing tables, her hands sorted the writing utensils aside, placing the register book distant to the cups and teapod he put down on the wooden plate.

"You don't remember any of it, do you?" she asked. Her gaze moved from the book up to him, and with a sigh Neville shook his head.

"Not even the day it happened!" He paused, eying up the one name that hinted at a certain relationship. _Francine Longbottom,_ foreign but yet familiar akin to the name of his father, _Frank_ Longbottom.

"But why should she have done that?! If that means I have a sister, there must be a reason why she didn't raise the two of us."

"Maybe she was unable to cope with both, a baby and a toddler she had to be a substitute mother for?" Hannah carefully ventured a guess. "Or maybe the Death Eaters attacked them at home and you were traumatized? Not the way your parents are", she hurried to say, „but -"

"I know what you mean." His voice was thick with unspoken thoughts and feelings he twisted and turned for hours. He knew Hannah did the same – she often shared his thoughts, and last night she also shared his loss. Her own parents passed away years ago, her mother murdered by Death Eaters, but in the end, it made no difference. She knew how it felt. Even if the shadows of those days were nearly erased from the wizard society, many wizard families were still shaped from the past. Numerous children and teens amongst his students had to grew up without one or both parents or older siblings who died back in the days of war. Teddy Lupin for example, raised by his grandmother too, finding some sort of brother figure in his teenage godfather Harry. Susan Bones, one of his former classmates, almost lost her entire family circle - already in the course of the first war - while her aunt Amelia was one of the first victims of the second war.

"I wondered about, too. If she only kept silence cause I was just too little ... But then I remembered something I know about Harry. He doesn't remember his parents either, you know? But he once told me they were snippets … of images and sounds he experienced from early childhood on. Some of them in dreams, others every time when he faces a Dementor. But when I try to think back … there's nothing, Hannah. Just emptiness, and … I never realized that!" His voice cracked and gave away the shocking awareness he held back the whole night.

"That's why you called him in?" she whispered, and again the paralysing cold swept over him and took away his voice.

"I'm sure he'll help." Calm and confident, Hannah reached out for him and cupped her hands around his fingers. "He has lots of experience. Especially at riddles. Remember the Chamber of Secrets no one believed in? Or how he solved the tasks of the Triwizard Tournament?" She gave him a soft, encouraging smile.

"Gillyweed", he replied with a crooked grin. „How could I forget!" It was the first and only time, Harry impressed him with herbology knowledge.

Hannah nodded to him, and when he looked up to Gran's clock another time, she followed his gaze. There was still half an hour left to go till his friend would arrive. Perfect for a cup of tea … to settle his thoughts and feelings and share those to Hannah he kept for himself for so long …

A dim morning sun shone down at the _Leaky Cauldron,_ when a lanky young mean appeared out of nowhere in front of the pub. His dark hair stuck out in all directions, and this was not a result of the third apparation in the streets of London within a few hours. Dead on target as he was, he perfectly hit the doorstep. Out of habit, Harry raised one hand to sleeken his hair and took a moment to read the handwritten message on the foldable blackboard announcing the _Cauldron_ was closed due to bereavement.

He was just about to knock on, when he heard the call of his name right along the road.

"Harry!"

"Neville!" Suprised, he turned around and stepped up to him, greeting him with a hug.

"Good to see you! You're just in time for breakfast!" Neville grinned, nodding down to a basket of pastries he carried. Despite the chattily tone, Harry recognized his smile was not entirely reaching his eyes.

"You look tired, Neville. Listen, I'm so sorry about your Grandma. I always thought she was a great woman, and ... _Whatever I can do for you and Hannah_ , I will do", he promised. "How's she doing?"

"Better than I do", his friend replied in a pained laughter. "But please - come in, Harry, I'll let you get settled first, and then we can talk about everything. The reason why you're here's a little bit - well. Let's say, unusual."

Baffled, Harry blinked, but he didn't ask further. Neville opened the door, yet deferred to him to enter first, and he was right: A complete empty taproom without the common smells of meals and drinks was definitely an unusual case. Not a single jangle of glasses could be heard, not to mention the common murmur of voices that was missed. Since Hannah Longbottom, née Abbot, was the landlady of the pub, its public parlour was way more friendlier and cleaner than back in his schooldays, although Harry felt reminded on that particular day in 1998, when he passed the room together with Ron and Hermione, disguised as Death Eaters in order to burglarise the Gringotts Wizarding Bank. A moment later, the unintended feeling had passed by. Hannah, a smile playing on her lips despite the traces of sorrow and fatigue in her face, came down the stairs from the first floor to welcome him.

"Harry! We're so glad you came!"

"Hey!" Another hug, then he flashed a smile back and regarded her with warm eyes. "Yeah, Neville already told me something special's going on."

"I'm afraid so. Sorry for that letter in the middle of the night!"

"That's no problem", he waved aside. "I was still with the Weasley's cause of another special case", Harry winked at her. Neville gave a chuckle behind his back:

"Maybe you should quit hunting dark wizards and work as a private investigator!"

"Nah, I'm saving this for my retirement", Harry joked back. They followed Hannah up the stairway, leaving behind the first and the second floor. Also the guest rooms were apparently deserted.

"Is everything alright with the, erm … funeral arrangements?" Harry asked, when they finally entered the housing space in the attic floor. Neville gestured to him to sit down, and they gathered around the dining table.

"Yes, she expressed herself very clearly in her testament, and I don't think there will be any problem with the stuff she bequeathed to us." His friend placed some baguettes, croissants and marmelade pastries in a breadbasket, which he handed around afterwards. Hannah poured him coffee, but when she offered him the milk churn, he rose his hand in a kindly refuse.

"Thanks, only sugar. I need something strong, have been awake half the night."

"Cause of the special Weasley case, eh?" Neville guessed. "May I ask what happened, or is it a secret?"

"Temporary", Harry acknowledged. "What I can reveal though, we still have to clarify if it's a dark artefact or just some diversionary tactic to cover up what truly happened."

"Sounds like a nail biter."

"No, more a hard nut to crack", Harry said over the rim of his cup, before taking a swig of his coffee. "Once we tamed that thing it hasn't revealed any other sign of magic at all!"

Hannah and Neville bandied a look.

"What?" The sudden silence called his attention.

"That's a strange coincidence. Seems to be very much alike the problem we have! Unless it has nothing to do with dark magic! It's our family register. Hannah already found the right word, it's sort of a riddle Gran … passed on to us. Hidden in the pages. It's her handwriting."

"I just reminded him you were always good at riddles", Hannah stated meekly. „You know, how you saved Ginny once from the Chamber of Secrets or that screeching egg on the Triwizard Tournament."

"Okaay?" Not only wary because of their word choice, Harry looked his old friends over. It just sounded too familiar, especially considering neither Neville nor Hannah knew about the true secret of the chamber. There had been rumours, for sure, but some details never left the privacy of Dumbledores office!

"What kind of riddle?"

"Three names." Neville breathed out in a deep-drawn sigh, and unwittingly, Harry held back his other questions when he sensed the hidden emotions behind his words. He was full of grief. Hannah's hand rested on the back of his hands.

"Yesterday evening … when the St. Mungo healers testified her death and carried her away … I took the book to note down her death date, and with the finish of the last number, they just appeared. Beneath the names of … my own parents."

Thoughtfully, Harry watched him. It seemed to him Neville had to struggle with way more words than he spoke out so far.

"Are they still there?" Harry asked gently, and this time, Neville's eyes stared fixedly at his own coffee cup. Then he took another deep breath and lifted his head.

"Right at the small table over there", he said. Together they got up from the breakfast table and turned to the sofa.

"Golden ink", Harry uttered the first thing he noticed. "All the other names are royal blue. So … the pages just didn't absorb and change your own writing, did they?" It was all a rhetorical question, for it was plain to see. That golden ink writing was a different calligraphy. While Neville's was loopy and upright, the golden scripture was more thin faced with small capitals. His friend stared at him, obviously not sure about if he just made a joke or not.

"Sorry, just thinking out loud", Harry said.

"That's the point", Neville replied, and now it was his turn to gave him a uncomprehending look. There was a bitter undertone in his words.

"I _thought about_ the whole night. If one of those names rings a bell. But there's nothing – I mean, _really_ nothing!" His voice grew louder and a bit sharper, then he suddenly paused. Harry took the moment and read the names. Slowly it began to dawn on him.

"Francine … sounds like a female Frank! Your father!" he burst out.

A grimly nod of his head.

"You mean - she's your sister?!"

"Well - why else her name should be stated beneath my parents?"

"But why no birth dates? If she's married to that ...", he looked at the parchment and read out loudly, " … Jonah James, then -"

"Yes, that means I'm an uncle", Neville said dryly. "Even if Gran never told me. We already searched for other secret ink messages, without any results."

Harry threw a glance across the room back to Hannah. Compared to her husband she was keeping her temper in a far better way and it only needed this one glance to make her understand. She rose from the table.

"We … believe Augusta wouldn't have done that without a reason. Maybe more than one reason, you know?" she said to Harry, then approached up to her husband and rested her palm on his shoulder. "I'm sure she just wanted to protect you, Nev!"

Harry smiled to himself. He never heard this nickname before, but the intimate touch along with her words brought his friend back down to earth.

"I'm sorry, it's just … Imagening she cast a memory charm on me when I was only two?! This is insane!" His voice faded in exhaustion. Harry cleared his throat.

"You already tried all the revealing charmes? Aparecium? Scarpin's Revelaspell?"

"Yes ..."

"A, erm … revealer?"

They both stared at him.

"No …?" Nevilles flustered eyes again found Hannah's. "It couldn't be that easy, could it?!"

"Well, I would say we'll give it a try", Harry grinned, and Hannah gave him a nod.

"I'll go and buy one!"

She hurried away, while both men stayed in front of the coffee table, still staring at the book as if hypnotizing could disclose its secret. Finally, Harry sank down on the couch, from where he watched Neville brooding in silence.

"A penny for your thoughts", he tried to coax out of him, and slowly Neville turned his head, finding his gaze.

"I've been wondering … If she was a baby when I was two and Gran concealed it. She had to manipulate the rest of the family too! I mean … nobody mentioned anything! Not even great-aunt Enid or great-uncle Algie! An he was the one who told me everything my Gran kept schtum about!"

"Huh", Harry nodded, caught up likewise in his own and Neville's thoughts, reminiscing about every single experience of enchanted writing he gained over the years. There had been Tom Riddle's diary, the Marauder's Map and last but not least his first Golden Snitch Albus Dumbledore enchanted as a clever hiding place for the Resurrection Stone.

"I open at the close", he quoted in a whisper, and again Neville stared at him in bewilderment.

"I once had a case of a hidden message interacting with flesh memory", he spoke up. "But there's also the chance it could be bound to a certain incantation or motto."

"A password?"

Harry nodded again.

Neville squinched up his face. "Oh man, I hate passwords!"

"Let me try something ..." Harry reached for the inkpot, unscrewed it, then took the quill and dipped it in. In a swift but tidy movement, he wrote down a number right beneath _Francine Longbottom:_

 **1982**

For a second, the number seemed to stay there. Then, the digits started to change, one after the other, each of them forming the initial of a word:

 **You Are The Wrong**

"Ow!" Slightly shocked, Harry stared down. A bloody cut streched across the knuckles of his writing hand.

"Wouw!" Neville called out, absolutely stunned. But when he looked at Harry, an expression of triumph ablazed in his eyes.

"Now you!" Harry instructed. Sceptically Neville took over the quill.

"Go for it, I bet it won't hurt you!"

For he had no other idea he tried the same number. This time, the digits faded from royal blue to gold, forming four other words, not leaving a single drop of blood on his own hand:

 **Reveal Who You Are**

For some reason, this seemed to amuse his friend even more.

"This is brilliant! It recognizes you as a family member and turns against unauthorised people!"

"Yeah, but - it seems as if the book wants to know which one of the Longbottoms I am exactly!"

Pondering, Harry pulled out the phial of dittany, closing the scratch on his hand with the healing substance.

"I think it's a combination of many little spells. Perhaps the truth behind is personalized, depending on the one who writes in. Quite tricky!"

Silently, he watched Neville writing down his own name. But instead of reacting someway else, the pages released a further safety instruction:

 **PROVE IT!**

Neville hesitated.

"You … You don't think I have to give my own blood, do you?"

Harry negated with a shake of his head. "As you said … this is not dark magic. And we have to bear in mind the ones in the family that are only related by marriage!"

Right on cue, the sound of a slamming door came from the ground floor. A few seconds later, Hannah's footsteps came up the stairs.

"Got the revealers", she panted with a greeting smile. "Did you know they sell different intensities?"

"No!" both men replied in one breath.

"Did you find something out?" Prying, she eyed up the demand on the parchment paper.

"Yeah, the book is self-defensive", Neville said shortly.

"Prove it?" she read out, handing out two different revealers to her husband that looked like common erasers. "What does that mean?"

"Another try, I guess", Neville sighed. Although he lowered the larger revealer and rubbed carefully over the blank spot beneath _Jonah James._

Again, nothing happened.

"Looks like I bought them in vain!" Hannah said disappointed.

"It has to be an insider", Harry added another suggestion, his thoughts circling around the snitch again. "Some other date or a fact only you know. Something important she knew you would never forget!"

Neville folded his hands on his back as he began to pace up and down the long side of the coffee table. And then, in a sudden breath he stopped and stared into blank space.

"Wait a second!" In a jump he was back on the couch, grabbed for the quill and started writing beneath his own name:

 **Mimbulus Mimbletonia**

"Oh my -" Hannah gasped as the missing birth dates started to show up.

 **Francine Longbottom ∞ Jonah James**

 **January 31, 1982 ~ June 28, 2017 March 15, 1980 ~ June 28, 2017**

 **ƪ**

 **Joel James**

 **December 03, 1998**

Once finished, they turned back into blue ink and dried up on the paper, while the password literally sank into the paper. "You did it!"

"The one and only password in Hogwarts I could ever remember", Neville said in a laugh, causing Harry being all smiles.

"Look at this!" Hannah whispered. A further line of golden ink appeared on the paper.

 **Hello Neville! Please turn the page!**

But it was something else that caught Neville's eye.

"Look at _this_ … they passed away this year! The same day!" His hand, close enough lowered above Francine's name he almost touched it, was slightly trembling. Again with a whisper, Hannah caressed his shoulder.

"Do it, darling!"

He flipped open the next page. Immediately new words took shape, and three pairs of eyes watched in tense expectation …


	5. IV Family Portrait

IV. Family Portrait

~ we look pretty normal, let's go back to that ~ (P!nk)

 _My dear grandson,_

 _if this book divulged its secret to you, my time on earth will be through. First of all, let me tell you how much I love you - I always did, even if there were times I had been impatient and harsh to you due to your scarcity of magical abilities during your childhood years. As you know, I always hoped that one day you would become truly your parent's son – although you never had the chance to get to know them personally. All that is left are just their empty shells. Please don't get me wrong – I am not talking about their feelings. I am clearly aware of them being alive and having a soul. It had been their sanity shattered in pieces, hour by hour in that night they endured the torture. To be frank with you, I always imagined their mental damage as a loss of self-awareness, in a same way one would watch his own mirror image slowly cracking and then flying into broken peaces of shards. But I always believed one_ _spark of them survived buried under the fragments. The part of them that lived in their hearts._

 _I know you collected every bit of candy wrapper junk your mother gave to you - and I understand why, my dear. Deeply buried inside of her she must still feel the love for you. Maybe it's beyond her grasp who we are or that she's even a human. But I can tell you without any doubt the love of a mother is stronger than any other power on earth. When you lost your parents this horrible night, I lost a son too. Your father was one of the smartest and bravest wizards I've ever known. But there is one thing I never told you about that night._

 _Now, the time is ripe to tell you the truth. It was love that made them survive the hours of torture. Their love for you, their only son - and for their unborn daughter. Alice was six month pregnant when she and Frank were abducted by the Death Eaters. Your father didn't just stay tall for her. He also tried to protect his baby girl, as she did too, and they succeded._

 _Alice fought long enough to gave a premature birth while they were brought to St. Mungo's. Physically, little Francine_ _was well. But the healers couldn't tell if she would suffer subsequent damage. And I wasn't strong enough to leave her in their care and bear another fate like your parent's. Therefore, I decided to give her up for adoption, and I made sure she found home in a muggle orphanage so there would be no other wizard kids teasing her due to a possible magical inability. As a precaution I also searched for a muggle orphanage with a squib among its staff. There was still the possibility she_ could _develop some magic, though no one knew if_ _her mental development would be unimpaired by the torture. A friendly, elderly janitor became the one holding a protective hand over your little sister. I promised to keep his name a secret because, as you surly can conclude, this is the secret of another family._

 _So, one thing led to another. To_ _cause no uncomfortable questions in public and within the family it was necessary to change some memories about that time. I had to make sure no one would ever mention Alice's pregnancy and you wouldn't remember either. And despite my own remorse, taking those decisions was a blessing in disguise._ _As the years passed by, Francine_ _actually turned out to be a squib. She was never adopted, but she had a happy childhood among her friends in the orphanage, and that was all I ever wished for her._

 _Francine grew up as a muggle - and when she got older, she married one. To_ _cut a long story short, she married her childhood sweetheart she grew up together in the orphanage. It truly was a love marriage, but - if I am allowed to give an opinion - it was also a result of teenage dreams of a perfect life. Her husband Jonah indeed had two early loves. Once Francine - he called her Frankie - and secondly his guitar. Expressed in an exaggerated way he was someone they call a_ _thoroughbred musician, she was a nature lover and photographer, and their only drop of bitterness was they already had a child_ _when they finally married at muggle majority ages._ _Looking back, I never would have thought they could build themselves a proper future. But to everyone's surprise they did - thanks to the orphanage and something named a_ _supervised residential group._ _Their muggle education was quite presentable, if you don't mind me saying. Both of them ended up having a profession to teach other muggles -_ _just like you, Neville, when you found your purpose in herbology. Their son Joel, however - he_ _seemed to be just as non-magical as his mother. Keeping in mind you, my own grandson, had been a exceptionally late bloomer, I used my best endeavours_ _to follow his development. My good friend Griselda Marchbanks - may god bless her soul - was a great assistance to me._ _As the head of the Wizarding Examinations Authority she had suitable qualifications_ _and influences she exerted in the ministry. They watched him very discretely and he caused nobody's attention._

 _By the age of eight and finally nine the boy_ _still did not show any signs of magic, and_ _I really have to say I wasn't sure about being relieved or disappointed about. But, at least, my fears had_ _proved unfounded and I resolved_ _to let things proceed the way they should be. Another wizard family mixing up with muggles as it has been customary for centuries now._

 _It was one year later his first signs of magic literally arose against all odds. I only can assume until this day they were just_ _not strong enough anybody took care of them. Well - they unavoidable_ started _to take care when he somehow managed a whole room furnishing levitating. A glorious mess, I can tell you! Only a few weeks to go the Hogwarts acceptance letter would be sent off to the new first year students and Joel was almost eleven! What else could I do than sending a letter to Professor McGonagall, asking her to take over the task of informing his non-magical parents personally? When the headmistress wrote me back, she declared herself more than surprised about my confession. Verifying his name in the Book of Admittance she figured out Joels name never had been inscribed and advised me to wait and see for his eleventh birthday if one of the other wizarding schools would announce an acceptance, maybe vested by reason of his ancestors from his father's side. I did - and contrary to all expectations it transpired the incident with the furniture should be a case sui generis. He never showed any other signs of magic since then … at least, not in public. So, the ministry indexed it as a common case of underage sorcery. Knowing the truth of his hidden origin, me and Griselda and her observers were the only ones getting suspicious of him. The intensity of his magical outburst was just too strong, so we supposed he would just repress his talent. Worried about he could become an obscurial, we tightened our surveillance and asked Professor McGonagall to bound the Quill of Acceptance to a charm detecting the location behind any kind of faint magic that caused the quill to move, without causing the Book of Admittance to open up. Once it localised his parent's house, we found out what was going on in the privacy. He did use magic,well-considered of not being heard or watched or provoke uncontrollable things, and the_ only reason _he applied it seemed to be_ _music. We already knew the boy was a musician like his father, but now we found out he taught himself playing a multitude of instruments enchanting them to play on its own. And, much more important, he could_ control _other things by playing music! Moving small things through the air_ _by playing a scale and sustain a note was literally a piece of cake for him. He could make candle flames dance only by rhythm or was_ _causing them to fade and swell conjoined with a tune. The same way_ _he played with electric muggle lights_ _and he used his own whistle to make things or birds react ..._ _Many little somethings not strong enough to alert the ministry a second time or allowing the book to respond._

 _And then, some days when he was home alone, we started to spot a strange detail. Sometimes he tried to work magic without an instrument, and sometimes he even tried to use a wand. Wherever it came from, it was an old and scratchy thing, its wood bleached out and splintered. You can conceive yourself a wand like this barely took any effect. But his other struggles of working magic also didn't._

 _During all the years the only constant control happened in musical interplay, usually_ _with an instrument. Therefore, I started to make some enquiries about comparable phenomenons in early wizard childhood development. Starting with the presupposition_ _he was pretty much a squib I quickly meet with the opposition he could develop magic in special ways, as, for example, a Metamorphmagus. My research led me to the fact that some so-called squibs are actually minor skilled wizards, and to another phenomenon some rarely known cases they can develop prodigious skills in one specific field. As you know, according to the Metamorphmagus example, those wizards are extremely uncirculated. One other example is called an Euphonomagus - wizards with the natural ability to sense musical tunes and to control them from birth on. In the end, our research result made clear Joel is indeed a Euphonomagus, but his other magical abilities are limited as a result of an inherited defect your mother and sister passed on to him. We never would have thought the night of Alice's torture has such far-ranging consequences. Once we found out about his gift, we_ _watched him develop it further all in secret. His improvement came slowly, each one remarkable in creativity but still not strong enough the Book of Admittance would notice. Even his own parents didn_ _'_ _t know what was going on, until one particular day, when the boy was fifteen. This day, he had a magical outburst in front of his parents._ _He almost set the house on fire with an accidental Engorgement Charm turning to a firewall, probably when he tried to show them his musical flame trick. When the ministry became aware, they sent a unit of the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad. The obliviators modified Frankie_ _'_ _s and Jonah_ _'_ _s memory_ _and those of the muggle firefighters. Due to the intensity of the spell, the ministry found out Joel was never registered as a magical child at all, neither educated at home nor any wizarding school. It was Griselda who informed me just in time, so I could send an owl to Kingsley Shacklebolt and arrange a personal meeting. He prevented all the other departments of taking action too soon. When he heard about Joel_ _'_ _s development of being an Euphonomagus without any other magical abilities, he decided to assign the whole case to St. Mungo_ _'_ _s to obtain expert advice. And while he was sending off all required interdepartmental memos I took the decision to cast one last memory charm._ _It wasn_ _'_ _t_ _the thought_ _of my great-grandson being dragged out of his home and pushed in a world he doesn_ _'_ _t know anything about - I could not stand the image of the St. Mungo healers turning him inside out and imprison him for his own and general good, so he would suffer a similar fate to your parents. Kingsley_ _'_ _s order never left the ministry. When time passed by without an official statement from the hospital, they seemed to forget his case. Even Griselda expressed her relief about nobody was asking questions. What we didn_ _'_ _t expect was that some rumours must been leaked trough or someone else noticed the boy_ _'_ _s gift. I can_ _'_ _t imagine any other reason for that terrible crime that happened next. On June 28 this year the ministry was informed about another magical incident in your sister_ _'_ _s home. They found Francine and her husband murdered by the Killing Curse. When they informed St. Mungo_ _about one of their ward housed residents lost his parents, it quickly came out they never heard about the boy and presumably he was the reason the murder took place at all. Thanks to Kingsley_ _'_ _s confidentiality, they couldn't trace the case back to me. So their only hope to gain further informations and to find the boy was a press release._ _"_ _Ministry searching for victim_ _'_ _s son", if you remember. They presented it as a missing case of the only witness, being educated by his relatives and probably on the run out of shock and confusion, and asked for assistance from the public. Naturally, they received no single information, at least none that helped on. How should they, when even my investigations were unsuccessful, this time. On this day, Francine and Jonah_ _'_ _s son Joel disappeared from the face of the earth. I, for one, am not proud of leaving this burden to you, my dear Neville. Everything I tried was to protect both of you – but now I have to avow I made a terrible mistake, and for your nephew_ _'_ _s sake,_ _I owe to tell you the truth. You are his uncle, Neville, and all that_ _'_ _s left to me is to make sure you_ _'_ _ll know everything you need to find him. Meanwhile Joel_ _'_ _s nineteen, and the main reason no one could detect him, is of course that the trace broke on his seventeenth birthday. The second reason, I assume by far, is the extensive enhancement of his gift during the last years. He taught himself enough to survive on his own_ _–_ _and I mean: Enough to survive a fight, keeping in mind he was only fifteen when his loss of control destroyed half a room! I am pretty sure he truly witnessed the murder of his parents, and whoever did this was after him. I pray you_ _'_ _ll find him, Neville, and I hope with all my heart you can forgive me my behavior of a baulky old woman._

 _In sincere love,_

 _your grandma, Augusta Longbottom,_

 _1st September, 2017._

Aside from their breath, minutes had passed in absolute silence, and when Harry finished reading, he couldn't resist the feeling one could have heard a pin falling on the ground. Then he felt the sudden movement, an unforeseen stroke when Neville pushed past him and Hannah.

"Nev", she called after him, but he was already halfway at the door.

"NO!" Harry shouted, with all authority he could grab in this moment. "You won't leave!"

Neville froze, his clenched fist around the doorknob.

"Harry, she -"

"What?! Lied to you your whole life?!" he continued his sentence, rude and without mercy and despite the feeling of being a complete asshole. He could see the shiever crawling up his spine, how his shoulders stiffened and trembled. But it wasn't just his body - even Neville's voice sounded hard frozen, an ice cold and thin layer holding back the feelings he was almost overcome by.

"Like the Dursleys did with me!" he replied, quickly avoiding his own bad conscience that just took a run-up in order to kick him up the arse. "Out of hate - or, at least, antipathy!"

He paused.

"But she did it out of love!"

The trembling reached Neville's back. It was his posture - upper body bent forward, his forehead pressed against the smooth, hazel wood - revealing an almost soundless sobbing. With firm steps, Harry walked across the room and grabbed him by the shoulder.

"This boy is in great danger! And you are in her place now!" he whispered.

Nevilles eyes were closed when he whispered back, his voice ragged of uncertainty. "But how can I -"

"WE can do it!" Harry gave him a fortified jolt, forcing his friend to meet his eyes. " _We_ can find him! And I swear we will!"


End file.
